


And Here In Between Explosions and Moderate-to-Severe World Domination...

by Foppossumtrishaa (Saerus2665)



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saerus2665/pseuds/Foppossumtrishaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literally just a little piece of domestic fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Here In Between Explosions and Moderate-to-Severe World Domination...

Q mumbles something half-awake into the leather of the couch when he turns from his side onto his back. Bond glances down at him from the opposite end of the couch. For once, it’s not Q on the laptop. For once it’s Bond, who’s finishing up his last mission report. Usually, he wouldn’t deign, and Q would eventually just finish it for him out of exasperated frustration. But tonight, James had come home with an already half-asleep Q, only to have him try to do more of the work that’d put him into this state in the first place.

Q’d spent the majority of the day (and yesterday, really) guiding Double-oh-Six away from hostile gunshots and into secret underground bunkers to steal hard drives. He’d gone in at a regular time yesterday (quarter to six) and then hadn’t left the branch until late tonight, around one, only after Bond finally managed to tug him away from his laptop. So when they’d gotten home, and Q had attempted to work again, Bond couldn't have been faster to banish him from technology, at for least the rest of the night. It had been an attribute to his exhaustion that Q didn’t bother to argue. The only protest he’d given was that he hadn’t wanted to go to bed just yet, regardless of the heavy bags underneath his eyes.

Bond had known then that he wouldn’t last long despite that, and he was being proven correct right now, as Q steadily dozed across the couch with his feet strewn over Bond’s lap. His glasses were smushed sideways into his face and his mouth was partially open, with soft little snores emitting from the back of his throat on every breath.

Bond hurriedly finished the last two lines because a detailed description on how he tortured someone for information was much lower on his to do list than getting Q to bed. Bond closes the laptop once he’s finished and slips it under the couch where neither of them will step on it by sleepy mistake tonight or tomorrow morning (neither of them, but mainly Q who was notoriously un-coordinated whilst half-awake). With the laptop safely stowed away, James now focused on gently sliding Q’s legs from his lap and down onto the ground. Q stirs at the shift and blinks awake behind his skewed lenses.

“Up you get, time for bed.” Bond says with a grin as he watches Q’s brief moment of sleepy confusion be replaced with tired annoyance.

“’M not sleepy.” Q protests whilst rubbing at his eyes, then the tip of his nose.

Bond’s grin only widens. Q sits up across from him, slowly, and blinks for a few seconds down at the brown leather of the couch, confused, before finally adjusting his glasses to correctly sit on his face. “Don’t wanna go to sleep yet.” Q protests sleepily again, still frowning down at the couch and his hands splayed out on the leather between them to steady himself.

Bond’s grin falters a bit then. “Why not, love, you’ve been up longer than the majority of people have the right to-” he says, using two fingers to nudge Q’s chin so Bond can see his face.

James falls quiet when Q abruptly falls forward and plants his forehead against Bond’s left shoulder. “J’don’t.” he mumbles to the fabric of Bond’s suit, which can’t smell that good considering Bond’s been wearing it since his last mission to the Maldives that only just ended this morning (technically, with time zones, that’s a larger length of time that he can’t really care to consider right now). But it’s the suit that makes him realize, and remember, the fact that he has been gone for a fair while lately. That, and Q’s lethargy, which usually didn’t happen when Bond was here, as the agent made a point of dragging him home at an appropriate hour every night.

Q’s behaviour suddenly makes sense and Bond’s grin comes back full force. “How ‘bout a bath then, love?” he says, bringing his hands up to lightly massage Q’s shoulders, “I don’t think ‘Two Days at the Office” is a befitting smell for you.”

Q mutters something inelegant against his suit jacket and Bond laughs, “I’ll take that as a yes then.” He carefully sets Q’s head back from his chest and stands up, earning a halfhearted groan of complaint from Q himself as he watches Bond go with a stubborn set expression. Bond grins back at him while briefly stretching out the muscles in his back and arms.

“Tea?” Q finally says and Bond gives Q a brief pat on his head. “You’ll want to get on that, ‘Not- sleepy’." he smirks again at Q’s halfhearted scowl, “I’ll draw you a bath.”

Q answers him, but it’s in that sleepy inarticulate way and Bond figures that if it’s important he’ll say it louder again. Q doesn’t say anything else so Bond goes ahead and disappears back into their bedroom.

Their ensuite isn’t anything to die for, but it fits into the nicer part of town they live in. They don’t have an exorbitant amount of bath stuffs either, just the basic soaps and shampoos (Q’s ‘special’ conditioner that can only be found in one small family owned corner shop down the road from MI-6). Bond draws the water slightly on the side of too hot to sit for a bit while he waits for Q.  Steam lazily begins to fill the room just as Q comes into the room. He’s taken off his shirt, and his pjs are slung low on his hips, in his hands is a mug of tea and he’s taking careful sips at it while staring at the running water with a slightly disdainful look on his face.

“I don’t like baths.” he says imperiously after a few seconds, taking another sip of tea. His eyes shift to James and study him over the white porcelain of the mug.

“I don’t trust you in the shower right now,” Bond says, giving Q a pointed once over, “you look like you’re about to tip over right now. We haven’t even added in the hot water.”

Q scowls again, “I suppose you’re going to try and wash me, like a dog or child?” he sets his mug down anyway and begins tugging the knot down on his bottoms.

“More like a sleepy quartermaster whose legs can't be trusted.” Bond says as Q carefully steps past him and slips into the bath.

“S’hot.” Q mumbles. He slides off his glasses, folding them, and sets them on the ledge of the tub, next to his tea.

“Kind of the intention.” Bond says. He runs the last bit of water into the tub cold regardless before shutting off the tap. Q grumbles a noise of agreement, his eyes sliding shut as he sinks down to his neck in the few soapy bubbles and milky water.

Bond pulls a washcloth from the small pile of them on the corner of the sink. Q watches him through half lidded eyes as Bond soaps it up and wets it in the water. Q hums again when Bond starts rubbing it over the pale plains of his narrow shoulders and neck. They’re silent for a few minutes, while Bond soaps up Q’s neck and shoulders then washes it away with careful handfuls of water.

“You know James, you’re pretty good at this domesticity thing.” Q mumbles while leaning over to nuzzle at James’ other hand resting on the edge of the tub.

Bond doesn’t answer that, probably because a bit of him cringes and panics a bit at the thought that maybe he’d let this get too far, maybe he’d let Q get too close and was now endangering him by being with him. Maybe he’d slipped up, and someone was after him and now they knew about Q and they knew that Bond would do nearly anything to keep the other man safe. Maybe….

Q’s wet fingers come up to briefly just brush the back of Bond’s hand, but it’s enough to make him notice. Bond turns to look first at his hand, then at Q, who’s watching him closely with newfound alertness in his green eyes, like he knows what Bond was thinking. In all honesty, he probably does, but that’s not something James is going to address right now. He doesn’t say anything for it, as he swallows down his anxiety, and Q doesn’t push the matter either.

Instead, Q goes back to all but purring when James runs his hand through Q’s mess of curls and asks: “Do you want me to wash this?” because it’s late, but Q’s also gone three days without a bath so he figures it’s his call. Q considers, his chin rest on the edge of the tub next to Bond’s arm with Bond’s hand still softly running through his hair. “We probably should,” he eventually mumbles and adds with small frown, “it’s getting sort of gross.”

Bond hums in agreement and plants a kiss on Q’s forehead before carefully extracting both his arms from the bath. He leans back a bit to grab the plastic rinse cup and a spare dry cloth from the sink. He turns back to Q in the tub and gently coaxes him up right in the tub. “Here, lean forward a bit.” Bond says, and he does, shutting his eyes as Bond fills the cup and pours the warm water over the mess of black hair. Q sputters out the water from his mouth and Bond hands him the dry rinse cloth to wipe the water from his eyes and mouth. James drizzles some shampoo onto the now wet locks and then gently begins to massage it in. Q practically melts under the ministrations, a small smile coming across his features as he occasionally hums soft little appreciative noises that make Bond grin.

Bond washes out his hair again, and Q looks to be on the edge of full on falling asleep by the time Bond’s finished with the conditioner. Q briefly jerks under the last rinse, making Bond chuckle, which earns him a glare from his wet, tired quartermaster. Q’s all spaghetti and limbs when Bond finally coaxes him up and he steps out onto the bathmat. James warmly wraps him up in one of their flannels, toweling off Q’s hair before sliding it down around his neck. “Can you get dressed on your own real quick while I get cleaned up?” Bond asks, planting another kiss on the tip of Q’s nose before stepping to the side to unplug the bath.

Q, once again, gives a noncommittal noise, and shuffles off into the bedroom. Bond quickly strips down and, a disappointing and cold shower later, he’s scrubbed away the last few physical remnants of the Maldives.

In the bedroom, Q’s put on a pair of bottoms and what appears to be one of James’ old t-shirts; it swamps him, almost drowning him in black fabric, and comes close to hanging off one of Q’s bony shoulders. He’s lying, almost face down in bed, with his back to Bond and James would almost guess him to already be asleep if not for the phone in his hand and it’s screen reflecting back onto his face.

“Q, I thought we said no more electronics.” Bond sighs while dropping his towel and pulling on his own pair of pyjama bottoms.

“S’only my email.” Q protests weakly, craning his neck to look at him as Bond crosses the room and then plucks the phone from Q’s slender fingers both they have a chance to defend it. “Unless it’s an email to M about how you want to take one of your, what was it, 30 unused vacation days tomorrow, then no electronics until tomorrow.” Bond says firmly. He goes to plug it into the charger on Q’s night table, but then notices the way Q’s eyes track his movements and, it’s not that he doesn’t trust him, but...he doesn’t trust him.

“I’ll keep this on the other side of the room.” James says, standing. Q whines in protest.

“James, no! What if there’s an emergency?” he reasons, shuffling on the bed to sit halfway up against the pillows.

“You can hear your alarms just as well from over here.” Bond replies, dropping the phone onto his own nightstand, knowing first hand that every serious alarm Q has programmed into the thing is loud enough to wake the dead. Q makes a half-hearted lunge for it, but Bond’s trained enough to be able to catch a scrawny half-asleep quartermaster’s hands in the middle of a clumsy struggle for a phone. Q whines again in protest and Bond sits down next to him on the bed, grinning, still holding Q’s hand. He plants a kiss against the palm before releasing it back to Q.

“You’re a terror, Bond.” Q grumbles sleepily as he re-adjusts himself against their pillows and peers up at Bond.

“Yes, the terror that bathes you and keeps you safe at night.” Bond sighs dramatically as he too falls against the pillows and lies facing Q.

“The worst kind of torture ever.” Q hums. He shifts so one of his palms is planted under his cheek. Already his eyes are dropping shut again, but he’s fighting sleep again, Bond can tell, as he pulls the thick down duvet up around both of them.

“Go to sleep Q; I’ll be here to torture you tomorrow.” Bond says, pushing a hand through still damp curls and kissing Q on the forehead again.

“Promise?” Comes the unexpected reply. And Q’s got his eyes shut already, and his breathing’s a slow steady rhythm, so Bond doesn’t really know if he meant to ask it. But Bond does mean to answer, despite the distant feeling of anxiety welling back up in his chest, despite the thought that this is all inherently too dangerous to continue, despite the fact that he knows full well that either one of them could severely compromise the other, he still means it when he says:

“Yes, Q, I promise.”

****  
  



End file.
